Chapter Text
Why the fuck did you buy a casino? What were you thinking?
Your thoughts are a one-note stream of bleakness throughout your first morning back at Graydon's. The break at Thornley has had all its restorative effects doused by what you've walked into.
First came a bizarre, stilted conversation with your accountant. After being charged with going over the company's long and perplexing financial history, he reported back to you with characteristic sullenness. A miserable man by all accounts, but an effective and discreet one, never asking too many questions.
“You'll no doubt already be aware of certain… irregularities in the way the previous owners operated,” he had said stiffly over Teams, batting down a cat's fluffy tail from in front of the webcam. “Quite the mess for you to mop up, Ms Dimitrescu.”
So, the creepy old Graydon brothers were as dodgy as they come. You had guessed as much, but the bald facts of what your accountant laid out were, even to you, slightly alarming. He'd ended the meeting with a grim shake of his head, at odds with his big ginger cat's engine-like purring.
He was right. As you pore over records in the office, there are such obvious, almost laughable discrepancies and large portions that are missing entirely. That's before you even dare to look into the company's payroll. How the brothers evaded the prying eyes of the tax office for so long is beyond you; perhaps it finally caught up with them. That would go some way to explaining their hasty departure to Spain.
You’ve got considerable work ahead of you to get everything in order and mostly above board. There's nothing here that isn't fixable, not much you haven't seen before, but you find yourself quite unwilling to put your mind to the task. You’d still been clinging onto the faint hope that owning a casino would offer up a glimpse of excitement, but reality has come knocking. Cleaning up several decades’ worth of financial malfeasance isn't exactly the thrill you had envisioned. This is as dull as it gets.
The real excitement, the one thing that actually gets your blood pumping, is sobering up in her council flat, ordered by you to stay away and clean herself up. Selfishly, you wish she was here, if only to alleviate your boredom and give you something, anything else to focus on.
She’ll be away for a week, doing exactly as you said; and still, you can't help but feel a twinge of frustration at her. You poured her cheap booze down the kitchen drain at your apartment, and with it, poured away some of your panic and guilt. After all, she chose to drink herself into a pit while you were gone; hardly something you could have predicted or controlled.
You've done all you can in giving her some time off, and the distance has allowed you room to mull over the nature of this entanglement. If you play it right, avoid getting too close, perhaps there's something here for you both. Give just enough away to keep her coming back without running the risk of attachment. All very well in theory, but quite a balancing act in reality. There's much that depends on Ari's willingness to play by your rules, her ability to intuit the invisible lines that constitute your boundaries. If only you could control the outcome of the game, foresee the moves, things would be significantly easier.
With the vague notion of getting away from the dingy office and your circular thoughts, you head out onto the casino floor. It's a slow day, and the staff are cleaning and talking quietly amongst themselves. They're almost too well-behaved; it sets your nerves on edge. From a distance you spot a reddish head of hair, and make straight for it. You need something to sink your teeth into.
“Thomas,” you call out, winding around rows of machines. “Have you got a minute, please?”
His face pops up from behind a virtual poker machine, pink with exertion. Holding a wad of blue-roll and a bottle of anti-bac, it seems he's been disinfecting the machine to within an inch of its life. Recalling James Graydon's assessment of Thomas’ fastidiousness, you can’t help but raise a questioning eyebrow. He looks back at you blandly, clutching his cleaning products like defensive weapons.
“Yeah,” he says cagily. “What is it… boss?”
No-one here, it seems, knows how to properly address you. How difficult is it to use your name? These staff are a baffling bunch. You jerk your thumb at a nearby booth, and Thomas shuffles after you reluctantly.
“I heard,” you begin in a neutral tone, “that there was a bit of trouble between you and Ari last week while I was away. Now, I don't want to make a fuss over it, but I was quite concerned by what you said to her.”
As you speak, his eyebrows have been hovering up near his hairline; he drops them quickly and adopts a look of feigned confusion. He scratches at his weak, goaty chin, apparently deep in thought.
“Erm, not sure… we don't get on at the best of times, to be honest…” he mumbles. “If I upset her, well… I probably didn't mean to, you know…”
“You called her a slag, Thomas,” you say loudly, relishing in the flash of panic in his eyes. “That's hardly an acceptable thing to be calling your subordinate, now, is it?”
“But she-” he starts, then stops himself abruptly. “Right. Okay. Got it, I… I shouldn't have said that. I'll apologise when she's back, alright?”
Two can play at this game. “Listen,” you say, leaning in conspiratorially. “If there's something more to what happened, then you can tell me. It'll stay between us, I assure you.”
Turning redder by the moment, he squints at you with distrustful eyes. The opening you've laid out, the opportunity to spill everything, seems not to be fooling him. Just as you thought; exactly what you'd hoped for. He won't admit that Ari slapped him in return for his insult, determined to cling onto the last scrap of his fragile pride. This is turning out to be more fun than you'd anticipated.
The pause drags on, and Thomas says nothing. You let the awkwardness hang around for a few moments more, pretending to be deep in thought.
“Well, then, if nothing else happened…” you say slowly, deliberately. “Then I'm afraid I can't let my manager go around using words like that, you understand. I'll have to write you up for conduct-”
“A written warning?!” Thomas splutters. His eyes bulge as he scrunches the blue-roll tighter in his fist. “Are you being serious?”
You're barely concealing a smile, your response ready-made. “Do I look like I'm joking?”
“This is ridiculous,” he spits. “Absolutely ridiculous. Would you be interested to know that she slapped me after the fact?”
You let your face fall into a look of sympathy and concern, though a current of savage enjoyment makes it all the more difficult to remain professional. This distinctly unlikable man has, unwittingly, given you just what you needed: a brief and enjoyable reprieve from boredom. When did you last have this much fun? He's so predictably dim, playing right into your hands.
“Oh, is that right? A little strange that you're only mentioning this now,” you say lightly. “Given that you had ample opportunity just a moment ago. Did anyone else see what happened?”
“No, but-”
“But what, Thomas?” you interrupt, with finality. He looks set to implode. “I can't just take your word for it. I don't want to have to do this - of course I don't - but I have to set a precedent.”
He seethes in insolent silence, giving you a look that's all venom. He has barely any control over his temper, and it's quite amusing to watch him fight against it. This is a man who thinks he has everything worked out, mastery of his own mind, but ultimately doesn't possess a shred of self-assurance to fall back on.
“That will be all.”
Some of your tension lifts as he stalks away, leaving you clearer-headed than you've been in a while. Making Thomas squirm was a good tonic for your nerves. Perhaps he'll think twice in future, perhaps not. You’re inclined to think not. But, if he does step out of line again, he'll be as good as gone, and you’ll take great pleasure in seeing the back of him. Idly you toy with the idea of finding more ways to push his buttons; it might expedite the process of ousting him from the casino. For now, you're satisfied, the immediate need for some mental stimulation sated. You set about your work with a lighter heart.
***
As the days wear on, refurbishments at the casino push ahead at a pleasing rate. The joiners arrive to gut and re-fit the office, decorators to paint and spruce up the staff areas. As such, you're left without a base of operations at Graydon's, so you're forced to take up working from your home office. The novelty of this soon wears off; you've just traded staring at one set of walls for another, even if yours are cleaner and nicer. All of the same mind-numbing tasks aren't made much more tolerable by a change of scenery.
Diana is at pains to drag you out of your irritable, bored mood, and tries every tactic in her arsenal to lift your spirits. Shopping does the trick, albeit temporarily. A trip into the city sees you return home with a Patek Philippe, three new suits and other such frivolous things. The purchases give you satisfaction for all but a matter of hours, then leave you mildly annoyed at having spent such an obscene amount of money. The watch sits in a drawer, still in its glossy wooden box, and the suits aren't even right for the time of year.
“Right,” announces Diana the following afternoon, having had enough of your ill-humour. “Remember what you promised? That we'd go out, just me and you? Well, time for you to make good on it. Get your coat on, flower.”
You make a show of grumbling and half-heartedly protesting the idea, but you're quietly pleased that she's taken charge and decided to drag you out for the night. If nothing else, you can look forward to an expansive cocktail menu and some decent food in a pleasant setting. Not only that, it’s a chance to shunt aside thoughts of work, your endless wondering about what Ari might be doing. She always seems to be hovering at the periphery of your mind these days.
At Diana's behest, you order a taxi to her favourite restaurant, a rustic Italian place where she knows all the staff by name. She beams all the way through the courses, and doesn't allow any silence to fall, filling it with a steady stream of chatter that saves you having to say much. You smile distractedly as your thoughts, predictably, wander to other matters. She seems not to notice that you're only half-listening.
It's still early when you finish up at the restaurant. You manage to convince Diana to join you for a quick drink overlooking the city, on the top floor of one of its many towers. You feel more at home here, sheltered in a little booth by the window with countless lights winking up from below. A round of overpriced cocktails makes a dent on your credit card, but not on your mood. This outing hasn’t had quite the effect you’d hoped for.
“You know…” Diana says after a long bout of silence. “It's not good manners to be thinking of another woman while you're taking me out.”
Your eyes snap up, and you feel a flush rising up your face. But she's smiling, no real annoyance there, just a hint of concern behind her playfulness. You've been staring out of the window and sipping your drink for a good twenty minutes, failing to notice Diana's watchful eyes. With a twinge of embarrassment, you realise how little you've done to ensure she has a nice evening.
“Ah…” you mumble shamefacedly. “I've not been such good company, have I?”
She shakes her head, laughing softly. “Don't be daft, petal. I'm only winding you up. I know you've had it hard lately.”
You're not sure what to say to this, so you revert your attention back to your cocktail. A mistake, really, to choose an espresso martini; two of them have left you jittery and ill at ease.
“It is the girl, isn't it?” Diana presses. “Ari, right? She seems a nice girl, from what you've told me.”
“Yes,” you say automatically. “Quite nice. Not that she and I are really anything, mind you. It's just a bit of fun, nothing more.”
You're aware of your defences rising as Diana takes in your words, nodding slowly. She won't drop it, not yet. In anticipation, you feel your shoulders bunching, a telltale tightening in your jaw.
She appears to weigh up what she says next very carefully. “You know, it's been a while since you had anyone in your life like that. I imagine it might be good for you, at least to try.”
“I'll decide what might or might not be good for me.”
Diana’s eyes widen, and only now do you register how sharp your voice has turned, the way you're gripping your glass hard enough to whiten your knuckles. As if stung, you whip your hand away and stuff it under the table, trying to hide your trembling.
Days of mounting frustration and anxiety are rapidly catching up with you, and your body’s first response is to guard itself, even against Diana. You will yourself not to betray anything, and for her to abandon the subject. But that was always too much to hope for. Your blood rushes back and forth in your ears, the tightly wound spring inside you a heartbeat from snapping.
You're only distantly aware that Diana has spoken up again.
“You needn't frighten yourself off from her, love. If she's nice, what's the harm in giving it a go?”
Keep your eyes low, don't react. Let her prattle on until she realises it's futile and gives up. But your mouth opens before your brain kicks in, before you can help yourself.
“You know very well the harm it could do, Diana.”
She sighs, losing patience. “I understand,” she says. “But you have to stop punishing yourself… depriving yourself of good things, all for some mistake you made years ago. You’ve changed a lot since then, Alcina, and you deserve better than what you're doing to yourself.”
Not this. Of course she would bring up Kate. You could kick yourself for ever telling her in the first place. That drunken night when you'd poured it all out in a fit of wine-induced self-pity has come back to bite you on more than one occasion. Diana is one of only three living people who knows of your guilt, your cowardice. And you were stupid enough to hand over the ammunition in the first place, to put yourself in the firing line.
All these years spent hiding your greatest shame, living in fear that it would be exhumed, somehow, dug up like the long-buried evidence of a crime. Now she has the nerve to shove it in front of you like a loaded weapon.
“That's quite enough,” you say, your voice low and heavy with suppressed anger. “We're not doing this. Not here, not now. Not ever, in fact. I want to go home.”
She looks profoundly wounded, leaning back in her seat like she's trying to get away from you. Averting your eyes, you pull on your coat clumsily and throw a few fifty-pound notes onto the table. You don't wait for her to follow as you make for the lifts. The two of you depart in separate taxis after a stiff goodbye, Diana with hurt in her eyes, and you with a bitter taste in your mouth.
Back at the apartment, shame starts to set in. You listen to the kitchen clock ticking, hating the way it bores right through to your brain. Why did you have to react so strongly? More to the point, why did she have to thrust your past under your nose like that?
Sometimes, at times like these, you wonder why she bothers with you at all. A normal housekeeper wouldn't be so involved, wouldn't care one jot about your personal life. But she came into your life not long after the incident at the hotel, when you'd been at your most vulnerable. She saw the very worst of you then, and decided to stay on and help you pick up the pieces. She deserves better than your wounded pride, your commitment to shutting her out.
You pick up your phone with a lump in your throat, open up your messages with Diana. The two words you type are those you hate the most; you hit send before you can talk yourself out of it.
-I'm sorry.
Her response appears in moments.
-Thank you, love. I'll see you tomorrow. You owe me an extra hug and a kiss.
You shake your head at the screen, smiling. She's better than you deserve, truly, but she's nothing if not stubborn in the way she stands by your side; a small miracle in itself. A little of the weight on your chest lifts.
***
Your new office is immaculate. More than that, it's absolutely perfect. Clean white walls and a suitably large desk, a couple of tasteful fake plants, and all of Thomas’ beloved folders trimmed down and tucked away in filing drawers. The staff cloakroom had to be sacrificed in an endeavour to give you more space, but you feel you've more than made up for that by providing cheap hangers and lockers in the canteen.
Now that everything is more or less in order, you can set yourself properly to the task of rectifying all of the Graydon brothers’ petty dealings. You think wistfully of how glorious a day it is, perfect weather for a trip out somewhere, but you've put off this work long enough. Determined not to tempt yourself with any more distractions, you stick your head out to the casino floor and catch David in passing.
“David, I'm not to be disturbed today, if it can be helped,” you tell him. “See to it that everything is alright out here, will you?”
“Yessir,” he says good-naturedly. He seems quite happy for Thomas’ absence today. “No disturbances, coming right up. Anything else?”
“No, thank you, David - actually,” you frown, catching yourself. “Have you heard from Ari at all?”
“Oh, yeah,” he grins. “Well, not from her directly, y’know, but I get on with her mum. Nice woman. Anyway, she tells me old Ari's packed in the drink properly this time. Result, eh?”
You blink at him, halfway between disbelief and intrigue. Part of you had expected to hear that Ari had used the time off to double down on her drinking, or to hear no news at all. David whistles as he leaves you with this thought, and you turn back the way you came, mildly cheered by the surprise.
Back in the office, you fire off emails at pace, rifle through the filing cabinets for relevant documents. It's easy work, repetitive, and affords you mental space to tackle other matters. The level of staffing needs to be addressed; five bodies just aren't enough to run the place. Writing schedules is all but impossible, especially with Ari on leave. You've left that particular task to Thomas, who has been carrying himself with what he thinks is a wounded dignity ever since you handed him the written warning. He prints and posts rotas with the air of a pariah, and avoids you doggedly.
The morning slides by without incident, bleeds into afternoon, and you're quickly growing restless. Half of you regrets asking not to be disturbed; a reprieve from this monotony would be welcome, whatever form it might take. A small to-do out in the casino, maybe, a chance to put someone in their place. You've been itching to catch Thomas at some kind of wrongdoing and sharpen your claws on him again. For days you've been frustrated in every sense, waiting for something to happen. This boredom is bringing out the worst in you, you know this, but knowing does little to alleviate it.
As luck would have it, there comes a gentle tap on your door part way through the afternoon. Your mood tentatively lifts; whatever is on the other side is sure to be preferable to your current state of affairs.
“Come in,” you call out, still keeping your eyes on the computer screen. You can't look too eager for trouble; you must stay professional.
The door swings inwards, and your spirits positively soar at what you see in your peripheral vision. Ari is standing there open-mouthed, looking anywhere but at you. She takes in the new office, balancing two cardboard cups of coffee in one hand.
“Bloody hell,” she says, as you turn your chair to face her. “This is nice.”
After your initial elation at the sight of her, suspicion begins to edge in. She's supposed to be at home, cleaning up her act, if David is to be believed. Why, then, is she here in your office? She'd better have some answers ready.
“What are you doing here?” you ask her, narrowing your eyes. She plasters on an unconvincing smile, and gestures as best she can with the coffee cups in her hand.
“I thought you could probably use a little break, and I was driving around town, so…”
Her words trail off awkwardly. You're trying hard not to smile, much as you're probably supposed to still be cross with her. The feeble story isn't getting past you, and she knows it. But there's something quite endearing about what she's doing, her sheepishness as she tries to look nonchalant.
“Oh! Wait,” she says suddenly, and starts ferreting around in one of her trouser pockets. You watch with mild interest until she pulls out something small and furry, holding it out to you. It's a bedraggled little teddy bear keyring. You have to keep a lid on your laughter as you take it from her, examining its shiny black eyes and misshapen head.
“I thought it was cute… it's for you.”
It is sort of sweet, you suppose, though not something you'd ever dream of picking out for yourself. You've never seen the point in keyrings, other than getting in the way and making unnecessary noise. The gesture is unexpectedly thoughtful, though, and the smile you're wearing feels like the first one in weeks.
“What's all this about?”
Absentmindedly you reach to take a cup of coffee, unburdening her hands. As she shuffles her feet uncomfortably, you let your eyes wander over her. She looks good - gorgeous, in fact. The dark shadows under her eyes have faded; her skin seems brighter, healthier. Dressed in a crisp pale blue shirt and dark trousers, she looks younger and stronger again, a far cry from when you last came face to face. This is the Ari you'd envisioned after first meeting her, all that potential now made manifest in front of you.
She's mumbling, tripping over her words. “It's like I said, I was, erm…” With a huff, she gives up and her shoulders drop. “Look, I'm here to try and make it up to you. The coffee, the bear, you know.”
You let her pause and take a sip of coffee, waiting for the rest. She seems to gain some strength from your silence.
“I'm really sorry. I behaved like an arse. The voicemail, coming in here completely out of my tree, having to drop me home…” she says, seeming entirely sincere as she holds your gaze. “It was embarrassing, and I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with that, or me.”
Your tension unspools as you listen to her, watch her dark eyes flitting over your face anxiously. The apology soothes you, and so does the sight of her looking so alert and well-groomed. With this comes a little nudge of satisfaction; giving her some time off has paid dividends, and you're secure in the knowledge that you did the right thing.
“I hear you've cleaned up since I last saw you,” you say, voicing your thoughts, to which she offers a timid smile. “You look very well. Healthy.”
Relief crosses her face, like she's just gotten away with this relatively unscathed. You suppose she has. But she oughtn't get overconfident or too comfortable; it'll take more than an apology and a squashed teddy bear to get back in your good books.
You hold up an admonishing finger, smirking as her eyes widen a touch.
“You've not quite made it up to me yet.”
Her jaw tightens as the suggestion sinks in. You're quite lucky, really; amidst all your frustration, in walks the one thing that could hope to relieve it for you. And she's looking particularly attractive, better than you've seen her before. Her timing couldn’t be more perfect.
Just as you're thinking on what you intend to do with her, she raises a hand timidly.
“Two things, really quickly…” Ari says in a small but firm voice. “Why is Tom still here after what he said to me?”
Of course. She was bound to want to know, you suppose.
“He's on a final written warning,” you say, embellishing slightly for her benefit; strictly speaking, he’s had only one warning from you. “One more toe out of line and he's gone, I promise. Next question,” you add, in an endeavour to speed this along.
Expecting something in the same vein, some work-related grievance needing to be aired, you start to gear up again, welcoming the swell of need that's been building ever since she walked in.
“Okay, that's fair,” she concedes. “The other thing, well…” She draws in a steadying breath. “What freaked you out so much after we spent the night together? I can't figure that one out. I haven't stopped thinking about it.”
This, you weren't prepared for. So much for trying to read the moves before they happen. You break her gaze, thinking hard. What's the best way to navigate this? Just as she's shown up earnestly and set aside her pride, perhaps you ought to do the same. A touch of honesty might go a long way, which doesn't stop the truth being so very difficult to disgorge. She doesn’t need to know everything, just enough to put the topic to rest and quell her immediate curiosity. This transaction, this give and take, forms a part of the larger game that's at play here. And you'll have to play it, if you're to get what you want.
“Because it's not the first time I've slept with an employee of mine,” you tell her, as a familiar tide of guilt accompanies the admission. “Years ago, I… it's happened before, that’s all.”
She says nothing for a few moments, and you imagine her fleeing the room in a fit of disgust. You keep your eyes down, and the wait is excruciating. Better to face this now, with dignity, than to have it spring up further down the line and blindside you.
“Oh, right. Was that all it was?” Ari says, and you hear the smile in her voice without seeing it. “Figures you've always been a very giving employer.”
What? You look up at her so sharply that your neck cricks. She's still smiling, cocking her head to one side in apparent playfulness. The relief that ensues is immeasurable. She doesn’t think you disgusting at all; rather, she's looking at you with considerable desire and a hint of amusement. You're all at once amazed and bemused by her reaction.
She's walking towards you, making her intentions clear. She stops in front of your chair, a slight mischievous glint in her eyes. They're beautiful, really, so dark that they appear fathomless. You've never seen eyes quite like hers.
“So… you were saying I've not quite made it up to you yet? What can we do about that, boss?”
God, she's scarily good at throwing you off balance. Her gift of self-possession is not so unlike your own, and you find yourself admiring the unusual way in which she handles herself. What's more, she's handed you a perfect opportunity to slip away from the topic, seemingly one that holds little to no interest for her. You eye her appraisingly, take her waist in your hands. The feel of her, warm and solid, has your desire rushing back in tenfold. You put your mouth to her ear, and a shiver rolls down her. Already so responsive, and you've not yet begun.
“You can start with a kiss,” you whisper, grazing your lips beneath her earlobe. “After that, we'll see…”
She's mesmerised as you stand and draw yourself up to full height, and the thrill of bewitching her like this is something you won't soon forget. There is no question of who will be in charge this time. You'll take back your control and savour every moment of it.
You kiss her and she melts right into you, sweet and pliant. In this moment she's yours to take, and there will be no opportunity for her to turn the tables. You're possessed with a compulsion to have her, to own her, right here and now. She makes sweet little noises into your mouth, and your self-control snaps. You push her away, entangled in a desire you can no longer contain.
She frowns up at you, cross and confused. Her face is flushed, her hands trembling.
“Undress,” you order, restraining the urge to do it for her, to unwrap her like a gift.
“What - here?” she bursts out, irritation rapidly turning to incredulity.
“This is my casino. My office…” you say, and the words come all too easily. “And you are my employee.”
Your lips turn up as you watch her flit between lust and apprehension. You saunter past her and lower the office door blind, turn the key in the lock slowly. The sound it makes has a certain finality. Ari is still standing there dumbstruck, looking at you as though you've sprouted three heads.
“I told you to undress,” you say casually. “Do you not want to make it up to me anymore?”
She sizes you up with her eyes narrowed, weighing up the options. For the briefest of moments, you doubt her, whether she'll take you on. But then there's the smallest shift in her expression, and she starts to unbutton her shirt, staring you down all the while.
“Good girl,” you murmur, watching as more of her is revealed to you. She's somewhat more trim than you remember, perhaps from the lack of drinking. The shirt drops. Your mouth dries at the sight of her broad shoulders, her hips, the very fine trail of hair on her stomach disappearing into her trousers. She dispenses with them quickly and, before she can do anything more, your hands are on her. A hard knot of hunger propels you to touch, to kiss her and never stop.
You feel her breasts over the constraints of her bra, huffing in disapproval that she's still got the damn thing on. She unclasps it immediately, and you're compelled to look before you touch. She's beautiful, a synthesis of contrasting muscle and softness. Her eyes lock onto yours as you take her breasts in your hands; she sighs, her eyelids flutter. Your own arousal burns brighter at the sight of her so willing, dissolving under your touch. Finally, you think; finally she's exactly how you want her.
“Go to the desk and turn around. Put your hands on it, and don't move.”
With no resistance she acquiesces, shunting aside a pile of papers and planting her hands on the surface. To have her like this is a thrill beyond words, more than you could have asked for. And she'll have no choice but to know her place once you're done with her.
She shivers as you push against her from behind, running the flat of your palm down her back. She can't see the smirk you're wearing, which only makes you bolder, more determined to wring every last bit of satisfaction out of this.
“Aren't you good?” you say sweetly. “I'll have to be nice to you now, won't I?”
“Yes, please,” Ari all but groans, and her hips twitch and buck as you slip your fingertips under the waistband of her underwear.
“I won’t give in so easily…” you say, and struck with a flash of inspiration, you push her by the neck so that her face is pressed into the desk; she gasps helplessly. “You'll have to ask nicely, and show me how sorry you are.”
“Please, Alcina, I'm sorry-” Her words are cut off by a yelp upon feeling your palm connect with her backside, and she barely stops herself pitching right into your computer monitor.
Her pleading ignites a small, savage part of you that wants to see her completely at your mercy, stripped of all that bravado and reduced to a begging mess. She's already there, practically supplicating, and it’s unspeakably intoxicating to watch her break like this.
“I'm sorry, boss. I’ll be good,” she whimpers in a voice laden with need and fear. There it is, what you'd been waiting for: confirmation that you've taken back what is rightly yours. And there's a calm that comes with this feeling, something close to relief. You can give her what she so badly wants now, even if it is on your terms.
“Yes, you will.”
You take down her underwear, nudging what you hope is her undamaged ankle as they drop to the floor. She steps out of them, shivering in spite of the stuffy warmth of the office.
“Now, you're going to have to be quiet,” you say, knowing that you're driving her mad by teasing her inner thigh with light touches. “Not a sound, pretty girl. Can you do that for me?”
She nods emphatically, though she still doesn't dare to turn and look at you. That's it. You trail your fingers further up, and you have to stifle a gasp at how very wet she is. She's enjoying being subdued this way, far more than you could have expected. You stroke her with varying pressure, seeking out where she's most sensitive. She buries her moans against her bicep, rolls her hips desperately into your touch. You're throbbing, too, biting your lip hard in an effort to stay composed.
“God, you're wet. You really are sorry, aren't you?” you taunt, unable to help yourself from getting in another dig. A little bit of payback for her merciless teasing back when you spent the night together.
She mumbles something in agreement. You see her face in profile, the furrow of her brow as she sinks her teeth into her arm. She won't last long like this, so you let up on her clit, relishing the way she's trying so hard to keep it together. Not for long.
“You've been so good. So far…”
As you slide two fingers inside her, you sense she's about to break by the way her shoulders tense, how her walls tighten. It's almost enough to send you over the edge without being touched. But then she's whimpering almost inaudibly, trying and failing to quieten herself. So you reach around with your free hand, stuff your fingers into her open mouth. She bites down, and you hiss, somewhere between indignation and arousal.
“Don't you dare. I will stop fucking you if you make a sound.”
The warning makes her let up with her teeth; prevented from voicing her pleasure, she turns passive once more. Satisfied, you ease your fingers deeper, feeling resistance there. Ari twitches and gasps, and you know it's not enough, so you slip a third finger inside. She's close, so close; you feel as though you're climbing to a peak along with her. The way she responds to you has your stomach twisted up, aching to see her fall apart.
And when you feel her tongue lap against the fingers in her mouth, your eyes roll, something like ecstasy floods your veins. You've never felt so alive, so present as you do now. It's exhilarating, catastrophically so.
“Fuck,” you burst out through gritted teeth, driving into her harder. Ari tenses and stills for a fraction of a second, clenches around your fingers. Then she's shaking wildly, her cries muffled as she sinks her teeth into you again, all those beautiful muscles rippling beneath her skin. She goes limp, coming back down slowly. You take your fingers away; they're soaked to the knuckles, near impossible to resist bringing them to your mouth for a taste. Another time.
Instead you stroke her back, and her skin erupts in goosebumps. She's slumped over the desk, breathing hard with her eyes half-open.
“Is that enough of an apology?”
You laugh, and it's such a good feeling. You've laughed more since meeting her than you have in years, probably.
“More than enough,” you grin, and pull her gently up from the desk so that you can hold her. “Come here.”
She lets you kiss her; you're both smiling into it, swept away by the release of tension, the tenderness that emerges in its wake. Ari is the first to break away, her eyes crinkled up at the edges. For a moment, it's something close to bliss. But almost simultaneously, you both flinch ever so slightly.
What is this?
God, if you only knew what she was thinking. She corrects her expression quickly, but there was something more. A look mirrored on your own face, a sinking realisation.
You're in this now, whatever you might have pretended otherwise. Ari, by the look on her face, seems to have stumbled upon the same conclusion. She has seized you, unexpectedly and unwittingly, and that's about the most dangerous thing she could do. Because now, you have to have her. Your willpower has eroded to almost nothing, your pretences shattered in an instant. You've run out of road, run out of places to hide from this.